Beat Of Your Heart
by Rianne
Summary: Grissom asks Sara to let her heart answer questions he has.


**Disclaimer**: *Just frowns, shakes her head and hugs her Grissom and Sara dolls tighter…

**Author Notes**: This one was daydreamed up on a train journey last weekend… I think I should be worried about where my unoccupied mind wanders… and I may well have been blushing!

M for mature people! It's been a while since my last one of these!

Beat Of Your Heart

By Rianne.

Oh God, there they went again…

Sara wanted to roll her eyes away from the screen as she had the first couple of times this had happened, but the third time wasn't to be the charm it was promised to be.

And instead for the third time that night the thought that her film choice might have been a mistake crossed her mind as the beautiful couple on screen tumbled once again, gloriously unclothed and aroused into tangled sheets.

She had assumed that a costume drama would have been a safe bet, not the usual rubbish you found on screen these days, something with more class and dignity, and an actual plot.

Yet, as the music, faint and romantic, ebbed and beat with the lovers sensual motion, and the mood lighting glowed a pretty sheen on the entwined bodies, she had to fight the instinct to close her eyes in embarrassment. She could not believe how painfully loud the intimate sounds the onscreen lovers made were, and that was the real kicker in the realisation department about just how wrong that safe movie assumption had been.

But it was a little late for second thoughts now, as the intimate sounds continued, as if taunting her, echoing out of the TV and into the darkened room that surrounded the two of them.

The TV's glow was thankfully the only light source for she could feel heat begin to fill her cheeks. And it wasn't a flush from the wine.

Damn it was suddenly very warm in here. Even her clothes felt tight. Her jeans heavy, her light t-shirt a pressure against her skin.

And the still the figures on screen danced in pleasurable arching curves before them.

Her fingers flexed around her precariously balanced wine glass. Reassuring herself of her grip on it. Enjoying the cool smooth of its surface beneath her fingertips. She wondered how long taking a sip might divert her focus from the TV and direct it to the warm tingling of the wine sliding past her lips.

But her track record screamed spillage.

And with red wine that would be a disaster.

So instead she tried to keep her breathing nice and slow and even, it was harder than she had imagined. God, it was just in and out, why was that such a struggle. She had been doing it alone from minute one.

This was just her luck! Embarrassment and she were old friends. But all she had wanted was to spend some nice quiet time alone with him. To try and rekindle an old friendship with him. But of course her life was never that simple though was it.

It kept it exciting at least!

Oh, God it was getting worse, the things that the male character was crying in the throes of the fakest passion ever, were the most cliché declarations of love she had ever heard.

The laughter that almost bubbled out uncontrolled was only tampered down by a growing feeling of anxiety, which was starting to weigh her down, and she didn't know which to give in to, at the moment she favoured both in equal measures.

She had many choices, but each had pros and cons.

Laugh it off, behave as if it wasn't happening, encourage it as a perfect opportunity, behave her age and act adult and just watch the movie?

Grissom was just quiet beside her and she was still waiting, still hoping he might break this tension with a clever joke, or at least by passing comment that this so-called adaptation wasn't even remotely in the same vein as the original work.

But so far from him she had just received quiet.

She wasn't sure what to do and that was more frustrating than the movie.

This was just so new between them. She had to handle this with the utmost care. Choose the right way to deal with this.

It had only been three weeks since Grissom had first kissed her.

Her thoughts about that moment, all tangled with sweetness and pleasure, still had the untapped power to make her smile and fill her with warmth.

Things with him finally felt like they were starting, but she wasn't yet sure what the exact status of their relationship was and she hadn't been brave enough to ask. Frankly she didn't want to tempt the fates by doing so either. Skittish Grissom was easily startled.

But one thing she did know was that it felt a little too early for them to sit through this kind of visual and aural onslaught.

He may be sitting very tranquil beside her, but she was painfully aware of him.

And it was then that she realised why she was so aware of him.

He wasn't watching the film.

The reason she could feel him?

His gaze was on her.

He was watching her?

He was watching her to see how she responded.

Watching her observe the onscreen lovers pretend to enjoy their cherished explorations.

His attention on her curious, intrigued, but heart achingly personal too. Lingering and slow.

He was gathering information, investigating her, and it was intimate knowledge he would be garnering and that flustered her, and made her helpless to stop herself from reacting more and more under his tender watchful gaze.

The film was bad enough, but the free and intensely private education in her responses that he was getting was pushing her closer to squirming.

And the more she tried to reign in her body's reactions to the erotic stimulus dancing before her and now all around her, the more obvious she became.

Her heart rate was picking up. All the air was leaving the room to be replaced by heat.

She was no prude, not usually, but the more she thought about showing that she wasn't the more her actions betrayed her and made it look that way.

It was how she imagined she might feel watching a scene like this as a shy chaste teenager on her first date, except with the added torment of sharing this experience with a man she was deeply interested in and that licked a flame inside her that was now flickering madly. A flame she was grown-up enough to feed. If she wanted too.

She wondered what she looked like to him. What he saw with those dark eyes. Even now she could feel the heat at each place his attention grazed.

She felt beautiful under his gaze.

She wanted him to keep on looking, but she had no idea how to handle the attentions.

So she kept looking straight ahead into the passionate fire on screen, she couldn't look down or he'd know she felt unsure, and she certainly couldn't turn toward him and acknowledge that she knew he was watching her.

That might break the spell.

And their setting wasn't helping. The mood lighting, the bed, the wine glasses. She knew how she had ended up here, but that didn't make believing it any easier.

Her night off had started well with the chirp of her cell, a message from him.

It still made her heart tingle to see his name on the cell phone screen.

"Free tonight?"

He knew she was, he made the schedule.

She had suggested a movie night, smiling at her phone as she had seen her reply take flight, and that precious smile was still in place as she had arrived on his doorstep, on time, with a new DVD still film wrapped in her hand. Only to find he had expected just to watch a film on TV, and put on the spot she had seen his ears colour pink as he had begrudgingly admitted that his only DVD player was hooked up to his bedroom TV.

In his bedroom.

Not to be put out she had laughed awkwardly and shrugged, trying to convey that she didn't see it as a problem, if he didn't, that was.

So here she found herself, sat side-by-side, leaning, pillow cushioned, against the headboard of his bed.

In the dark.

No light on, he had insisted, that cheeky quirk to his expression, as he had flicked off the lamp and hopped up on the bed beside her, pronouncing their makeshift set up as just as good as being at the movies.

So here she sat, now painfully self-conscious, trying to force herself to watch the film, yet all the time aware of him beside her. And even more aware of the hungry groans which were throbbing from the speakers.

This was torture. Blissful torture!

Each time he moved his shoulder brushed hers, and when he shifted so did the bed beneath them, wrinkling the softness of his bedcovers. Each movement he made reminding her of his presence, distracting her from the film.

This film, which had looked so nice and only mildly romantic from the back cover, something they could relax in front of that wouldn't tax their brains, but had somehow turned out to be nearer the borders of soft core, lust filled and in places actually sensual and she was for some reason, unable to brush it off as she usually would.

The new scene unfolding before her was even more intimate than the last, and in this one the couple actually seemed to be interested in one another. Or maybe it was just food to her already flustered desire that was making it more arousing to watch than the earlier liaisons.

Maybe it was that tingle in her belly, the one that was growing warmer, the one very aware that she was currently under his warm scrutiny, all whilst she was trying to keep her eyelashes from fluttering at the sensual images flickering before her.

Had she been watching this alone her fingertips might have strayed. Might have slid down her stomach and stroked lower under the cover of her clothing. Her hips lifting to seek out her touch. She most certainly would have closed her eyes and listening to the evoking sounds have entertained flickers of herself and Grissom moving together just like that. As the delicate strokes of her fingertips coaxed her over the brink.

The hairs on her arm rose at the thought. But she wouldn't be ashamed about that.

After all that was surely what was on his mind as he studied her so intently.

She could almost imagine the thoughts that made him look at her like that, could feel them in his gaze stroking her skin. Warmth gliding over her.

And the more she thought about it the more she felt it. It was getting too much. Tempting her to react.

She was practically whimpering under the strain.

"Relax."

His voice near her ear, quiet and caring, barely a whisper, still made her jump.

Her hand jerked, and his fingers reflexively closed around hers as they clutched her half full wine glass, quickly lifting it away from her grasp before she soaked herself with it.

She heard the weird spherical orb sound the liquid in the glass made as he placed it by the bed.

Then his whispers were back, and she could feel the warmth of his breath by her ear.

"Aren't you enjoying the film?"

Her mouth curved upwards, and her breath puffed out of her nose as she flit a coy sideways glance his way. The glimpse of him over so quickly she only saw a blur of his dark blue polo shirt before her eyes were back studying the bedspread pattern by her toes.

"I…" she cleared her croaky throat growing even more embarrassed at the sound of her voice, "I think I should have checked it out online before I brought it with me tonight."

He hummed, but she wasn't sure if his sound was one of agreement, if it was it didn't sound entirely truthful.

"I don't know," he crossed his legs at the ankle making himself more comfortable.

She watched his feet peeking out of the bottom of his jeans, deciding that she liked the comfortable sight of his bare toes, as he added, "I think it is somewhat interesting."

The glass gone from her fidgeting fingers she instead toyed with the edge of her t-shirt. Running the tips of her fingers along the ribbon like hem.

She wanted to ask why, the question was on her lips, but he cut her off before she could speak.

"It's been telling me a lot about you, Sara."

Reaching out his fingertips he brushed a few stray strands of her hair back behind her ear so he could see her profile more clearly.

"Sara?"

The way her name sounded drifting out of the darkness… her eyelids did flutter then.

His tone was slow and coaxing, a caressing of her syllables, but she didn't know what words she expected to follow. He was in an unreadable mood this evening. Playful and curious, but she wasn't sure she knew him well enough in this new personal way yet to read him.

This promising thing between them was just beginning. And until tonight slow kisses had been the most intimate things that they had shared. They had been using their lips to tease one another and then pulling back, leaving tension shimmering in their wake.

Was that about to change?

He was closer now, she could feel his beard bristles scraping her jaw line, and then his lips hot and moist brush against the sensitive shell of her ear.

"Sara, tell me what you like."

The words breezed out of him as if they weren't weighted with thousands of connotations and possible answers.

Her breath caught.

She fought the shiver that slid down her spine, but it won and felt delicious.

She was so aware of him and he wasn't backing off, he wasn't giving her any space to ponder this, the most important question he had ever asked her.

He wasn't allowing her the space to question his motives and meaning, and then completely freak out about it and that was probably smart. Probably very smart.

She swallowed hard.

"Like?" she stuttered, as she forced a frown, but she had a very good idea what he meant.

And he knew it.

He waited patiently.

When she braved another glance in his direction he was smiling and she had to look away quickly, her cheeks felt like they burned.

Her mouth opened as she tried to come up with a response, a teasing response, a joke, something glib that wouldn't threaten to expose long hidden desires and true yearnings. But she couldn't think, not with him looking at her like that, not with the couple on screen still writhing madly like that.

Sara Sidle, woman of too many words around men she adored rendered mute by self-consciousness. Stop the Press.

She closed her mouth. Pressing her lips together in a thoughtful line.

And opened them again.

She took a stuttering breath.

And her lips drifted together again as she turned to look at him pleadingly, eyebrows raised, attempting to beg off. Nervousness and anxiety changing the energies in her.

But he just moved closer to her, situating himself before her in the middle of the bed. Blocking out the TV, and moving into her personal space and she felt her defences tighten her spine, lift her chin.

But he wasn't letting her off this it seemed. She couldn't look anywhere but at him, so she found her eyes tracing the thread, which held together the seam on his collar. But he wouldn't let her hide. The gentle touch of his fingertip to her chin, tilted her gaze upwards to meet his.

His eyes danced with the devil, as his curls looked almost angelic haloed as they were by the TV behind him.

"Okay," he nodded, his cheekiness turned serious for a minute in understanding.

He smiled affectionately. Leaning in and brushing his lips against the corner of hers, the ephemeral contact felt imagined, but she couldn't resist the soft sigh, her eyes lulling closed.

"May I touch you?"

That had her attention. Her eyes flew open, trying to focus on him, so near and so different in the darkness.

She was stunned for a full minute before she found her senses again. Then she managed to nod, a little too strenuously.

And he moved closer. Reaching out his palm, and carefully placing it right over her heart.

Her breath hitched at the contact. His eyes were asking, confirming that this was okay. But it was all she could do to let her mouth fall open again as she remembered to breathe. The slow and shaky inhale arching her into his touch, like she was offering herself to him.

The weight of his palm was unexpectedly comfortable, the way his thumb fit into the dip between her breasts and the way his fingers curled perfectly around her ribs, made him feel like he was just a new part of her.

The thought, made for her, rumbled through her brain, but she refused to let herself believe in things like that.

And damn, his touch was hot, vital warmth seeping through the thin cotton t-shirt which was no barrier at all.

Her heart was just racing.

His eyes were glittering again in the dim light, as he looked away from her face and instead looked down at where he touched her, seemingly both amused and fascinated, by the thump of her heart beneath his fingers, and just from the expression on his face she felt her breasts swell and tighten under his gaze, her nipples no doubt visible to him.

She shifted a little, getting used to his new proximity.

"Ticklish?"

That cheeky glint was back in his eye, but she refused to admit anything, her sly smile breaking into what could only be described as a shy giggle.

"I'll take that as a yes," he countered back, barely moving his fingers and still making her squirm.

Then he was taking her hand, curling the fingers of his free hand around hers and lifting it to his lips he pressed a light kiss to her palm, before pressing her palm against his own chest. Surprisingly solid beneath the textured fabric.

His fingers held her there, encouraging her to touch too, to feel him. To feel the beat of his own heart. And it was pounding.

His expression was different now. Despite the grey edges to his hair the smile in his eyes spoke more of boyish vulnerability, which surprised her.

And she had to look down and then quickly looked further away, after catching a glance of the tightness in his jeans. She was pretty thankful at that moment for the veil of her hair that fell to shade her face. Especially as she was woefully trying not to feel smug as he shifted in what had to be pleasurable discomfort.

He cleared his throat, shaking the chest beneath her touch and it was good to hear he was affected too. Just the thought that she had done that, that looking at her had done that. She aroused him and damn he aroused her and he hadn't done anything but lightly touch her.

Yet that place of first contact was the focal point of the universe right now for her. That heavy heat.

"Sara," his coaxing voice captured her attention again.

"Let your heart tell me," he eventually managed to grind out, his voice low and deep.

She could do nothing but blink up at him from under eyes so heavylidden they fell closed again under their own weight.

He was using her heartbeat as some kind of primitive lie detector, so odd, so romantic, so Grissom.

But she didn't challenge him.

She felt safe here. In his inner sanctum no less. Both comforted and made highly aware by his touch. And suddenly reminded that they were alone, delightfully, romantically isolated, probably the only two people awake at this time of night for miles.

And that heightened the tension, the warmth in the room beating with their interest in one another.

Behind her closed lids she felt like she was spinning, maybe it was the wine, but she hadn't even finished her first glass.

"Lets start with what I know…" his voice was now low and stirring that syrupy sensation inside her.

"Well you, Sara Sidle are a closet romantic, that is what this movie tells me, and that is the very best kind." He brushed her nose with his. "I like that only I see you like that, that you feel safe enough to share that part of yourself with me."

She could feel the warmth of his smile.

"I already know that you like to snuggle up and watch movies," he nudged her with his knee, making her smile shyly and open her eyes to blink at him.

"But what about being held? Do you like to be held, Sara?"

She liked how he said her name. Like it was his to say. That was one definite for his list.

Under his palm her heart continued to beat hard against his touch. Yeah, she liked to be held, loved it in fact, but for the life of her she couldn't remember the last time some one had actually held her.

"How about big beds? Soft sheets? Plenty of room to stretch out, but then again I bet you'd only use the middle, I bet you'd like to stay right there where we could curl up together?"

He didn't wait for an answer. That was one bet he clearly thought he had won unchallenged. And this was one situation where she would let him win.

"And you are very, very sensual, you like to touch, to examine, so a big soft bed would be perfect to seduce you in. Somewhere you could feel safe to explore, this tactile nature of yours, it could be the investigator in you, or it could be what makes you such a good CSI. Either way…"

She hitched at his compliment, the palm she pressed to his chest trembling a little, ignoring the fact that she should already be over hanging desperately to these little bursts of insight into how he thought about her professionally.

"Do you realise that you play with the textures of your clothes when you are distracted or thinking, or sometimes a little nervous?" He asked. "Your fingers trace the edges of your shirt, or tap on your thigh, or fiddle with a fastener, to me that's your tell."

She let go of the thin edge of her shirt as if it burned, but he didn't react, he was talking again.

"Well, I already know you like my kisses." His lips brushed hers again, barely a stroke of pillowed flesh, but the tingles fired. "You like them slow, and deep and lazy, taking all the time in the world."

" And I know you like bubble baths," her forehead creased at the relevance.

"Don't you deny it," his voice quirked with the tease, "I've seen all those little bottles in your bathroom and I know you use them on your days off. When you get called in, or when you meet me like this I can smell them on you. And I can't help myself; I make excuses to stand closer to you. I can't get the idea of you lounging in those sweet scented opalescent bubbles out of my mind."

He nuzzled her nose again, taking a slow breath, before exhaling on a sigh, "hmmmm… you smell like pomegranate Sara, sweet and musky. Like I could taste it if I kissed your skin."

She breathed out slowly at the implication of those words, at the thought of those lips, so close to her own right now, such a temptation to breach the hairsbreadth gap between them and make solid contact.

She could smell him too, warm and spicy and inherently male. It made her want.

"Would you like to share one of those baths with me? Would you let me to soap your skin, to wash your hair?"

She heard herself hum in agreement, oh, that would be wonderful.

"Do you like the feel of satin, or silk, clinging to your warm skin, sleek and slippery to the touch, completely contrasting to the plain functional work clothes you use as your defence." He paused to take a breath.

"Would you wear that for me?"

Her stomach jumped, flipped happily, did excited summersaults that made her unsteady heart beat even faster.

"Keep it secret under your clothes until we were alone? Would it make you feel confident and powerful to see my reaction to it?"

She heard a deep almost growl before he managed to grit out the words through desire-clenched teeth.

"God, just the sight of you in just your underwear would have me on my knees, Sara,"

They were both quiet, for a while. Her body shivering, but heated, thinking over his words. A man of very few and so hearing him over share like this was a surprising turnabout.

He shifted before her, trying to encourage the blood flow back into his legs. She didn't need to open her eyes to see him. Everything was heightened with that one sense down. And through the intimate darkness sounds, motion and desire burned stronger.

She swore she could feel the very tips of his moustache as he spoke. Scratching fire.

"You are so beautiful, Sara, I don't tell you that enough."

They were quiet a little longer, and under his palm her heart had slowed as her comfort with his touch had grown.

"Those kisses you like," his voice although expected was still a surprise after the prolonged moments of quiet, and it drew her right back, laced with sensual pull, "would you like them along your jaw? Would they make you squirm, Sara? Would you like my lips on your neck, under your ear, down your spine?"

She shivered in the best confirmation she could have given, eyelids fluttering.

And her heart was revving back up through her gears again.

"How about kisses to your fingertips? I'd like to use the wet stroke of my tongue to taste your palm, and I'd scratch my beard on the inside of your wrist and then stroke my lips up your sensitive inner arm… would that make you shiver too?"

She couldn't speak; instead she swallowed slowly, and felt his hot exhale against her throat. She licked her lips distractedly and was surprised to hear his deep, but controlled breathing falter.

"Would it feel good if I sucked your racing pulse? I can see it beating, Sara, and feel your heart powering it under my hand."

He shifted again, and she felt the warmth of him, the breadth of him, looming and hot.

"Would you like to touch me, Sara?"

He let that question hover in the air.

"Would you kiss me back? Kiss my fingers like I kissed yours, suck my fingers in your mouth?"

He took what was clearly a calming breath, " would you trace the ridges of my fingerprints with your tongue in wet cleaning strokes?"

The sound that escaped her was nearly a groan, and out before she could prevent it.

His voice had become rougher, like it had been dipped in something raw and sweet.

She swallowed again, her throat full, it was an effort to force down the lump of emotion there as he continued to speak.

"How about my fingertips gliding up your legs? God, just the thought of you before me with bare legs, and me stroking the creases behind your knees… would you gasp as my touch slid higher, but not quite as high as you might want them too."

He was grinning again, the tease sweetening his voice.

"I wouldn't touch you yet. No, not until I wanted to. Would that make you tremble? Would you instead press kisses along my jaw to give you a tactile distraction as my fingers refused to stroke you, would you suck on my earlobe, letting me hear your gasped pleas?"

He was clearly panting, and his heart was slamming into her palm.

"Do you like the feel of me, would you want to feel hot skin under your fingertips, to feel your bared skin against mine? And your skin is so soft, Honey."

She quivered at the emotion in his voice, really shook, trembling like a leaf and to calm her he leant in, his forehead touching hers, leaning lightly together.

His nose slid in alongside hers, his breath moistening her lips. Trying to slow this down. This thing that had begun as only teasing words, but now was as good as really touching one another.

He licked his lips, and his darting tongue caught her upper lip on his sneaky swipe.

She whimpered. She couldn't help it. She wasn't sure if he was taunting her intentionally, but damn it was working.

"We'd show those phoney actors what it is really like to make love!"

She wanted him to kiss her so badly. Only that would be the start to relieving this ache inside her.

"Would you undress for me? Or would you like me to undress you, to slide the clothes from your skin? Would you squirm if I pressed warm kisses to the places I revealed, stroking the flesh with my lips and my beard, my hands holding you tight, keeping you close."

Oh she wanted this, she wanted all of this, and so much more.

"Would you like to touch me and see what thinking about you, and looking at you does to me? Would you like to feel what you do to me, to touch me in long pulling strokes, would you let me take your hand in mine and show you what I like?"

He took a moment, obviously having to try as hard as she to make coherence out of the heat fogged thoughts in his brain.

"Would you show me what you like, Sara? Would you touch yourself and let me see? Would it arouse you to know that I was watching you?"

Her eyes rolled back in desire behind her closed lids, only the press of his palm over her heart grounding her in the present.

"I'd like to kiss your breasts, to stroke them with my tongue, to slide my lips down your stomach, and kiss you where your fingers move over yourself. Could I kiss you like that?"

He swallowed so loudly that she felt it was a motion of her own body.

"Could I taste you there, Honey, dance over where you are the most sensitive with the flutter of my tongue, drive you crazy?"

Her heart was wild, it hurt it beat that fast. He was trying to kill her, he must be.

"And here, in this big bed, we could be together."

The noise that fell from her lips wasn't even one she could categorise.

"Would you like it fast, blurry and hungry and instinctive? Mindless and desperate with no thought to control? Just you and me and our lusts and desire?"

He hummed as both panted imagining it. Then he shook his head against hers, nose brushing nose.

"No, slow I think, intimate and deep, full of longing, hands everywhere, I'd want to be looking into your eyes."

He wasn't even really asking anymore, merely speaking his thoughts out loud. It was amazing to hear him so real and distracted and honest with her.

"Yeah, I'd want to hold you tight, I'd want to hold you to my bed."

Her heart somehow managed to speed up at that thought, the image of herself pinned beneath him, arching and writhing, and straining to be closer to him, the intensity of the imagining sweet enough to curl her toes and make her sex throb. Without thought, she unfurled her legs, and they fell open around him. An unconscious invite.

"I'd want to make you mine."

Her heart stopped.

There was that forced swallow again, the one almost pained he was that aroused. That was the only way she knew that she was still alive. They were gone, so completely gone.

He cleared his throat, shifting his hips, moving ever nearer. It was good he could still function in some way; she was completely beyond anything familiar right now and blissfully lost.

"Would you cry out?"

His voice was back, her gentle guide through this.

"I'd like to hear you, I know words and sounds spur you on, would you let me hear, would you smother those aching responses of yours in hot kisses?"

He was leaning in now, his palm and hers, trapped between their pressing bodies as they sought to bring one another closer without thought.

"Would you like me to whisper to you as I move inside you? To tell you how I feel about you?"

Her insides were beating so fast and sweetly now that she felt like she was going to explode into a thousand pieces just at the sound of his voice.

His free hand came up, gently cupped her cheek in the heat of his palm.

"Would it be alright for me to whisper that I love you?"

And then he was kissing her, hot mouth, wet aching tongue, dragging her down and beneath him.

His weight was against her, the strain of his sex fell into perfect alignment between her thighs and with one arch she was shattering.

Shaking all over.

Release slamming through her so hard she did cry out, feeling her body burst in white hot joy. And he was shaking too, clinging to her so tightly she thought she might never breathe again.

He loved her, and she loved him, and for the longest moments in time there was nothing but happiness.


End file.
